When you’re really into someone, everything will seem new. You’ll forget you’ve done it all before, forget the homogenous blandness of countless first dates rolled into one deflated feeling of wanting to go home and the getting-to-know-you script you’ve read so many times your eyes hurt; you’ll forget it and do it again because it doesn’t matter anymore; this is the first time, the first real time, and you’ll be right there.
When you’re really into someone, you’re going to breathe deeper. You’re going to feel like the air suddenly has more oxygen, I don’t know; something is going to kick your blood into coursing and you’ll feel very almost painfully awake. You’re going to start seeing things differently. You might experience synesthesia and feel a little crazy. You’ll feel like you walked right into the source of light and it’ll be amplified and surreal; you’ll feel like you can’t get down but somehow everything’s less desperate.
When you’re really into someone you’ going to get happy, stupid happy. Your heart will tighten in that delicious squeeze and you’ll catch yourself smiling all the time for all kinds of ridiculous reasons. When you see a text from them you’re going to smile so crazily wide your face will crack in half and your friends will ask if you won the lottery or something. You’re going to smile when you pass Sour Skittles in the grocery store because they love Sour Skittles. You’re going to think seriously about buying them. Maybe you will.
When you’re really into someone you’re going to feel hazy and hyperconscious and all kinds of incongruous things; simultaneously ravenous and full, spent and electrified and lightheaded, it won’t make any sense. Your tolerance is going to fall out the window completely and you’ll start to feel buzzed off of an espresso or two drinks, even less if you’re in their company. You’ll feel buzzed while totally sober. You’ll just feel things and it will be curious and amazing because you’ll feel them with no filter, purely and completely without any brakes or categorization or analysis, like you haven’t before and don’t really know how to.
When you’re really into someone they’re going to be a work of art, a story that’s being written while you’re reading it. They’ll be something you have to take in in pieces because it’s too vast and overwhelming, like Guernica or a gigantic Pollock. You’ll notice small things and they will all mean something, the way their eyes flick down into their cup of coffee and how their hands smooth their hair when they’re formulating a thought, and they will feel so private, so secret you’ll feel like you’re watching a darkly intimate film. Sometimes you’ll have to look away.
When you’re really into someone you’ll forget how to project. You won’t see them in terms of you, won’t be able to trap them in a timeline; won’t care where they’re going or where they’ve been because those vague outlines of their other selves are like different characters in a separate screenplay, interesting but irrelevant. When you’re really into someone you’ll want them completely presently. You’ll want to absorb them, memorize them how they are, stand back and reach into the texture of their world if only for a moment. You won’t want to imagine a future or imagine the possibilities, won’t be able to paste yourself next to them in photos or think about what if, you won’t do any of that because for now they’re beautiful and weightless and you don’t want to wake up and wreck it all by trying to hold down a beautiful thing.